


I'm Not in Love

by TinyFakeFanficRock



Series: Ad meliora [11]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: (they totally are), Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Toasters in Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 15:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13550001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyFakeFanficRock/pseuds/TinyFakeFanficRock
Summary: A collection of ficlets -- some very short, others longer -- starring two people desperately in need of Remedial Feelings 101.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lindra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindra/gifts).



> These started as little gifts for my best friend; several are from the 100 Ways to Say I Love You prompt list, and a couple other ones are songfics. Then, with her encouragement, I strung them all together and opened up AO3, and here we are.

Mel's eyes took longer than his to adjust to the dark, so he looked out for her a little extra in caves. Boone leaned over and murmured into her ear, "Slope down's steep. Watch your step." She shivered a little; must have been a cold draft from the mine below.


	2. Chapter 2

Craig only nudged her shoulder twice with the backs of his fingers and backed off the moment she stirred, but Mel was still a little startled she'd slept through his approach. The last time she slept that soundly, she'd rented a room with a working lock. _Huh. Well, let's go._


	3. Chapter 3

Nothing stayed simple with this crew. The game of eight-ball Boone had been playing with Cass had somehow mutated into a trick-shot competition with Arcade and Raul. Once Veronica got involved, it became more of a contraption-building exercise -- Arcade had started calling it a Rude Goldberg machine or something like that.

And now, after two days' Nuka-Cola-fueled work, everyone was crammed into the rec room to see if the thing actually worked: Lily on the couch, Boone at the table with the broken radio, everyone else in chairs they'd dragged in from other rooms.

The oven door clanged shut in the kitchen and Mel finally ducked in shortly afterward, a smudge of flour on her cheek suggesting things were about to start smelling really good in the suite. She didn't even look for a place to sit, only slipped into the corner by the table, clasped her hands in front of her, and went uncannily still, like she was trying to pass for a piece of furniture.

Boone stood up and pushed his chair toward her. "Take my seat." It was as simple as things got: if a lady doesn't have a seat, offer her yours. At least, he thought so.

Mel, however, looked at him with something close to wonder. She opened her mouth to say something, shut it again, and then thanked him softly and sat down. He was clearly missing something here, but she was smiling at him, so it must be all right. The warmth he felt at that told him this wasn't going to stay simple, either.


	4. Chapter 4

It hadn't been too long a day, so after she cleaned up the kitchen, Mel got out one of the books she'd borrowed from Mr. House's penthouse library: _The Great Gatsby_. She needed to be relatively fresh when she started a new Pre-War novel; they made frequent references to _polo ponies_ , _investment securities_ , and other strange things that must have died with the Old World. It was hard for her to guess the intended meaning sometimes. But so far she could still follow the story, so Mel kept reading, content to let the strange words wash over her.

On the other end of the couch, Craig had settled in with a copy of _True Police Stories_. He was reading with great concentration, making her wonder if he also had to puzzle out the references in books like this. She'd always assumed that a "civilized" education covered all those things.

Rex interrupted her pondering by hopping up onto the couch and placing a paw lightly on the page, as if to say, _Excuse me, but you're forgetting to pet me._ She smiled and gave him a good scratch behind the brain case until he lay down with his head in her lap, the picture of contentment.

An hour later Mel looked up again, unsure whether to continue. She liked this book's writing style, but she wasn't sure she liked any of its characters, and its Old World references were harder to work out than the ones in Austen or Hawthorne. Why wasn't everything annotated like Shakespeare?

Besides, she had a machete to sharpen, a cut in her shirt sleeve to mend, and probably several other chores she wasn't even remembering at the moment. Mel set the book down and prepared to nudge Rex aside before she noticed that in his sleep, he'd sprawled out, and now his back legs were resting on the book still open in Craig's lap. How could he read like that -- oh. Craig had nodded off, too, his head bowed and tilted toward her, chapped lips slightly parted, breath coming slow and even in a way it rarely did when he slept on the road. At this angle, she could even see his closed eyes behind his ever-present sunglasses, and she watched him for a moment before catching herself. _You shouldn't stare._

She should just get up, leave him in peace. But if she did that now, Rex's inevitable wriggling would startle Craig awake. She allowed herself a final glance at the two of them sleeping so soundly and reopened the book. _I'll give it one more chapter._


	5. Chapter 5

Damn, the Gun Runners' robot had a great selection today. Armor-piercing and hollow-point rounds for his rifle as well as the standard ones, a few really nice scopes, and an anti-materiel rifle with a set of modifications that he didn't think he'd ever get sick of looking at. He felt a little like the kids who pressed their noses up against Mick and Ralph's window every time new comics came in, because he'd have to have House's kind of money to be able to afford that gun, let alone the ammo. But he liked to look at it. The Gun Runners did quality work.

Vendortron's nighttime lights kicked on. Guess he'd been here a while. After they'd taken down a couple of stray Fiends, most of the others had drifted on toward the Crimson Caravan and its more varied merchandise. Only Mel remained, quiet and resolute, watching his back while he browsed.

He flicked a glance over his shoulder. Her body was still angled in the direction the Fiends had come from, but her eyes were on him. Probably trying to figure out if he was going to be done anytime soon. She had to be bored out of her mind. "Go on to the Crimson Caravan if you want," he told her. "Don't have to stay for me."

She smiled like he'd said something funny. "I'll wait."


	6. Chapter 6

Her first trip to Gomorrah -- more accurately, her conversation with Joana -- made Mel feel like crushing something. Unfortunately, Cachino's head was not currently an option; she needed him alive until she got enough information to destroy whatever plot her husband had concocted with the Omertas. So, since there'd been a surplus of corn at the Westside Co-op anyway, she decided to make some flour. The process actually made her feel better than she'd expected it to -- enough so that she felt like using some of the newly ground flour to bake some cornbread afterward. It would make even more dishes to wash in addition to the existing mess, but it should go well with tonight's Brahmin steaks from the McBrides'.

To Mel's satisfaction, her friends agreed. She thanked them, of course, but hoped all this praise wouldn't make her conceited.

Almost immediately after dinner, Veronica pulled Mel aside. "Hey, we should go through the close-range weapons so Cass can sell a few."

"Sure. I'll wash the dishes and be right there."

"Um, Cass was gonna go trading tonight, so can we do it now?"

She hated leaving chores undone -- even after all this time she couldn't shake the fear of being caught shirking -- but Veronica was all but tugging at her sleeve, so off she went. They cleaned the weapons and sorted them into piles: keep, sell, and repair. Cass left with the sale items; Veronica split the repairs between herself and Raul, and Mel stowed the remaining weapons in their assigned footlocker.

That done, Mel went to clean up the kitchen, but to her shock found the sink empty and the counters wiped. "Where did the dishes go?" she said after a moment to Craig, now alone at the long table leafing through a copy of _Guns and Bullets_.

"Cupboards. I, uh, washed up."

She didn't know what to say. She hadn't realized the mess would bother him so much he'd deal with it himself. Should she apologize?

"Dinner was good," he added, eyeing her with some concern.

She forced her mouth to start working again just so he wouldn't think she was fishing for more compliments. "Oh. Ah, thank you."

He nodded at her and rose to leave, but Veronica leaned into the room, blocking his exit. "Hey, Boone. Did I take long enough?"

A flash of frustration passed over Craig's face. "Mel's standing _right here_."

"Oh, you didn't tell her you asked me to keep her out of the way while you cleaned the kitchen because you think she works really hard and deserves a break?" Veronica didn't wait for a reply, merely sashayed away humming, of all things, "Mad About the Boy."

"Goddammit." He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked away, now totally flustered. "I -- I gotta go check over my armor."

Mel watched him go, then sat in his still-warm chair staring at the clean sink -- he'd even wiped that down -- for a good twenty minutes after that.


	7. Chapter 7

It was about two-thirty when Boone dragged his hands down his sweaty face and headed for the fridge. He'd had another nightmare -- Bitter Springs, tonight, except one of the Khans down there was Carla. That was a new horrible twist on his usual dreams. Meant he'd probably need at least three beers before he could even think about lying back down.

He was stunned to find Mel sitting at the kitchen table. She was usually asleep before midnight and always up at five, so finding her staring into an open bottle of beer in the middle of the night was definitely odd. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked her.

"I woke up." The edge in the way she said it told him she'd had a nightmare, too. He wondered what hers had been about, but quickly squashed the thought as none of his business.

Still, he knew she could have hidden that, and appreciated that she didn't bother. He figured he could at least pay that back with a little openness of his own. "Yeah, me too. Beer looks real good."

She winced. "I, ah, I think this is the last one. Raul used up a bunch trying out beer-battered lakelurk the other night."

Boone checked the fridge. She was right. Dammit. "Then Raul had better be out buying some more."

"Unlikely. But we can share," she said, and slid the bottle across the table to him. "Or, wait, I can get you a glass."

She pushed her chair back to do that, but he waved her off before she could get up and took a deep drink. "I'm not that fussy."

She smiled at that, and the movement of her lips made him realize they'd been pressed to the mouth of the bottle only moments before. He took another sip real fast before he could think about that too much more.

He offered her the beer back when it was a quarter full, and she took one more drink and said he could have the rest. They didn't say anything else; she just ran two of her long fingers along the ridges of the bottlecap while he picked at the label on the beer bottle. After he finished, she rose, patted his shoulder twice, and went back to her room.

When Mel had said there was no more beer, he'd resigned himself to getting into the liquor and dealing with the resulting hangover, but somehow the half-beer settled him enough to get him to attempt sleeping again.


	8. Chapter 8

The fight at the Atomic Wrangler hadn't started out involving them; they were just there to eat and wind down. But once someone landed heavily on their table and got up with a switchblade in hand, flailing entirely too close to Craig's face in the process, Mel decided that was enough. She wrenched the little knife from his hand, clicked it shut, and tossed it to a relieved-looking James Garrett, who stowed it behind the counter.

The brawler, now clearly enraged, wheeled on them and tried to charge Craig -- must've thought he was the one who disarmed him. Drunk as he was, though, it was easy for Mel to step between them, flip him forward, and deposit him head-down into the trash barrel by the wall. He came up sputtering obscenities and flailing at the air until Craig said firmly, "You're done," and held him in place until the actual bouncer okayed tossing him into the street.

They righted their chairs, accepted replacement food and beers from James Garrett, and settled back in as the bar quieted down again. "Nice move," Craig told her.

Mel shook her head and actually chuckled a little. "It's not very practical in a real fight. Last time I used it, I was sixteen." 

He cocked an eyebrow. "You were in bar fights at sixteen?"

She thought a moment, and decided the truth was safe enough, at least with Craig. "Ah, no. My --" _ugh, English doesn't really have the right word for_ novi "-- my boyfriend back then had a sister who didn't like me. I heard her telling him to find another girl to marry because he deserved a stronger wife than me. So we argued, she charged me, and I dumped her facefirst into a pile of Bighorner shit."

Craig laughed, and that sound both startled her and thrilled her. "Guess she found out how strong you were."

Her face grew hot. "Well, she _did_ start keeping her opinions about me to herself after that." Mel pulled herself up short before she could pursue the thread of time any further. It felt wonderfully normal to talk about relatively innocent childhood squabbles, and she wanted to hold onto that, not remember what had ultimately happened to Kit and Sidewinder. So she grew bolder. "And _you_ never got into stupid fights as a kid?"

"Never said that," he replied, amusement still on his face, and then, to her delight, he actually continued, "There was this one asshole kid who kept sneaking onto our farm to tip our Brahmin over, so right before I left for basic ..."

If any more fights broke out in the Wrangler that night, Mel didn't notice.


	9. Chapter 9

These dipshit Vipers couldn't ambush a gecko, let alone the two of them. Mel touched his wrist and pointed to the one with the grenade launcher on one side of the ravine. Shortly afterward, Boone squeezed the trigger and the spiky-haired man tumbled backwards, bag of grenades spilling away to the side. "Watch out. Somebody might find one of the loose grenades," he murmured.

Mel gave him a quick nod and was gone to intercept the three Vipers spread out along the road who were already seeking the source of the gunshot. Two more were on the ridge and trying to come down to join the fight, but the steep, rocky slope made them too slow to be a challenge. He picked them off with a vague sense of pity for anything that made the mistake of getting between them and the Legion fucks trying to set up a new camp deeper in NCR territory.

Huh. It was weird, feeling shit again, and he felt a lot lately. He liked Mel, and that was fine. Like was a feeling he could cope with, mild and inoffensive like scrambled eggs. It was all the other goddamn feelings that elbowed their way to the front of his mind when he was with her that he really wished would fuck off.

It wasn't even the ones that made his pants uncomfortable that he hated the most; it was the ones that made no goddamn sense. For example, he wanted to protect her, which was stupid, since she could more than handle herself. She was proving it right now, lopping the gun hand, and then the head, off the last Viper.

She wiped down her blade, then turned to him, grinning. "Good fight. Ready to head on?"

Her smile made his heart pick up speed. He felt a number of other things in that moment, and oddly enough, the safest one to think about was _alive_. He didn't deserve to feel anything, let alone that, but it was novel enough that he didn't want to push it away just yet. "Yeah. Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written while listening to IMRI's "I Feel Alive". Yes, I am complete Eurovision trash.


	10. Chapter 10

Mel was two beers in at the Prospector Saloon when Craig caught her eye from beside the jukebox and twitched his head slightly. _Over here._

She slid off the stool immediately and came to his side, stepping lightly around a sleeping Cheyenne and arching an eyebrow. _Trouble?_

There was a flicker of amusement on his lips. "Nothing like that. Just wanted you to hear something."

He pushed a few buttons on the jukebox, and a woman started to sing in a lovely, rich voice: _I go out walkin' after midnight ..._ Mel swayed along to the beat, but turned a questioning look to Craig.

After a moment, he said, "It ... reminded me of you. Thought you'd like it." 

_I'm lonesome as I can be,_ the song continued. Oh. He pitied her. She didn't know what to say to that, so she squared her shoulders and kept her gaze on him.

His brows knit and he started talking again, unusually fast, almost Mentats-fast. "Like how you talked about when you used to travel at night."

She'd thought he'd been asleep that night she and Cass had been swapping road stories. Apparently he'd been listening when she talked about how she'd preferred traveling at night until she first met Nightstalkers, and had found it worth remembering.

The song ended. "Can we play it again?" she asked, and he got the sort of look he usually reserved for finding .308 rounds in an ammo box.

They each ordered a fresh beer and listened again:  
_I walk for miles along the highway_  
_Just my way of sayin' I love you_  
At that, Mel swallowed hard and reached down to pet Cheyenne, only to brush Craig's hand already there. Before she could decide what to do next, Easy Pete hollered from the porch, "Damn jukebox got stuck on the same song again."

"I'll, ah, tell him it's not broken," she said, and darted outside. Yes. Fresh air was good. It had been getting too hot inside anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're listening to Patsy Cline's "Walkin' After Midnight".


End file.
